Trust
by HR always live on
Summary: A one shot, using a prompt. Harry Ruth, set somewhere past S8.


**This is my one shot, using the prompt, _Tell me every terrible thing you ever did. And let me love you anyway._ Hope you enjoy!**

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They were lying in bed together, after a long difficult day on the grid, but Ruth could tell something was bothering him. She reached for him, her hand stroking his arm gently. It felt like an iron bar, and she knew something was wrong.

"You can talk to me," she said. "Whatever it is that's keeping you awake and silent. I'm here."

"Nothing's wrong," he said instantly. A snap reaction that made her sigh heavily.

"Harry, you've been stiff and silent for the last few days. If not longer." Still nothing. She moved her hand away from him and sat up. "Is it me? Is it… are you regretting our relationship…?"

"No," he said firmly, looking at her for the first time in what felt like ages. "It's not you, never think that. You are the best thing in my life." She rolled her eyes slightly at that, and his face softened. Almost a smile there as he took her hand in his, stroking her palm gently.

"I've been thinking lately," he said. "That I'm not a good man and… that I know you deserve better."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" she asked, frowning in confusion. She didn't want Harry to push her away.

"No!" He took a deep breath. "I'm making a mess of this. I'm trying to say that I don't understand what you see in me. I'm not a good man."

"I think that's a matter of perspective," she said. "I know you've made terrible choices, but I think that in the end, you always tried to make the better decision for the majority of people. It's not your fault your job puts these pressures on you."

"I know you believe that," he said. "But I wasn't just meaning at work. I meant more… personally. My personal history is…" He didn't finish his sentence.

"Then tell me," Ruth urged gently.

"No," he said, that rigid intractable tone back in his voice.

"Harry," she said softly. "Tell me every terrible thing you ever did. And let me love you anyway."

He looked at her, a total sadness in his hazel eyes. "You'd leave me."

"Harry, do you trust me?" she asked, her hand firmly on his chin, making him look at her.

"You know I do," he said forcefully. "It's my past I can't trust. It's a lot to deal with. I don't want to…"

"What, burden me with it?" she said. "I'm in this for the long term. This is not a quick fling. Not for me anyway. And I mean this kindly, but you're not an easy man. If I'd wanted someone uncomplicated and easy, I wouldn't have picked you. I love you. So talk to me. Trust me not to run. Trust that I know the man you are now, not the person who made those mistakes twenty years ago." He looked as if he was considering it, but after a minute or two he shook his head.

"We'd be here quite a while if I told you everything. My hair would probably have fallen out before I'm done."

"Harry," she said, her tone losing that softness. "You know me, when have I ever given up trying to get all the information? I'm tenacious. You know I'll find out sooner or later, whether by accident or intent. I'd prefer to hear these things from you. And I think you'd prefer to tell me." He didn't answer. Instead he got out of bed and headed to the door.

"Harry?" she asked, bewildered. "Don't walk out on me, we're in the middle of a conversation."

"I'm not," he said. "You're right. I do trust you. So I'm getting the whisky and then I'll tell you everything. I'll be back in a couple of minutes." Ruth nodded and lay back in bed, waiting for everything she knew about Harry to be turned on it's head.

* * *

They talked for most of the night. Harry's voice turned hoarse, going over all of his mistakes, both professional and personal. He cried, she cried and they both listened. At about five a.m, Harry had run out of things to say and they lapsed into silence.

"You need to sleep," Ruth told him.

"Will you still be here when I wake up?" he asked.

"I might not be in bed, but I'm not leaving you. I asked and you told me. Thank you for trusting me." She reached for his hand and kissed the back gently, before she got out of bed and quickly dashed to the bathroom. She came back with a glass of water and a sleeping pill. "You need to sleep," she repeated. "And after dragging up your past, I doubt you'll be able to do it without help. Take the pill." He didn't argue. Once he'd put the glass down and turned the light off, he reached for her hand again.

"Of course I still love you," she said, answering the question he hadn't been brave enough to ask. They fumbled together until he had his arms around her and she rested her head against his chest. She pressed a gentle kiss to his skin and he sighed.

"Thank you Ruth," he murmured.

"Sleep." They both did.

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 **Thanks for reading.**


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